Aishiteruyo, sensei
by Faelyrus
Summary: A student's undying love for his teacher, and that teacher's confused and mixed-up feelings. Told in fragments alternating between past and the present, accumulating to a final conclusion.


**Hi everyone. And yes, it's my second fic already. Was seized by a writing fury the past few days that would (hopefully) not peter down into a mere trickle in the months to come. **

**Anyway. My second fic aims to be different from my first one (that means NO PORN). Also, I would like to stick to my "one chapter" style for this. Because publishing this in chapters really takes the magic out, so to say. **

**A clarification****: Rooftop here doesn't refer to the brick red tiled one that shelters you from cats and dogs raining down from the sky. It simply refers to an open space commonly found on top of the building where people hang their laundry/get drunk/have sex. **

**Enjoy, and hopefully, it doesn't disappoint. **

**Oh, and actually, this fic is supposed to be a long-due dedication to my dearest friend, **_**x3CAMden**_

**Aishiteruyo, sensei.**

Ceil locked his feet around the metal grilles spanning the edge of the rooftop, raised the condensation soaked beer bottle in his hand up high and screamed.

"AHHHHH!" It echoed around the tall, elegant office buildings, skirting the edge of the suburban neighbourhood, loud yet soft against the backdrop of traffic and the star-struck sky. _There. My final act of rebellion, and it hadn't made a difference_. Disheartened, he took a quaffle from the bottle. The sharp, sour taste of beer slid down his throat like a jelly putty might, leaving a fiery trail in its wake. The beer felt like a pit of molten gold resting in his stomach, hot and leaden. He still didn't get why adults guzzled them like water.

Ceil exhaled, his breath steamy and white in the frigid air. Far below, the honking of an angry motorist blared, long and angry. The mixture of neon adverts and street lamps looked lurid here, bright and angry and hurting. An insubstantial salad of greens, blues and reds that danced before Ceil's eyes, themselves reflected in them; a phantasmagorical parody of colours, slightly dulled by the onyx heart of Ceil's eyes. He was tired of all this, he was. But never the city, which didn't seem to know pain, hundreds of millions of people swarming about their lives as usual, unaffected and uncomprehending.

The bitter tang of beer hit his throat again, almost triggering an involuntary clearing of his stomach's contents. Ceil swallowed it down. His eyes began to sting and grow wet. The sparkling city wavered and shimmered in his eyes as they choked themselves on tears.

In the distance, the spokes of the Ferris wheel turned and the colourful carriages spun. Ceil watched, spellbound, through the watery film of his eyes that made the rainbow of the carriages run and smudge. As the wheel completed a circuit, he stretched his fingers towards it.

_Strange_, he thought. _Just why does it seem so hard to catch_? He closed his fingers around it again, squeezed his eyes tight shut and then opened them, but the wheel remained turning, distant and far as a ring of rainbow stars. Suddenly, anger rushed through him. "Stop escaping!" he shouted as he closed his hand around the wheel repeatedly (_don't run, don't run, don't run!!!_). Streams of tears gave way to gushing dams as he stretched his body further over the railings, towards North where the wheel was. He could feel his muscles rippling against his stomach, the gripping soles of his shoes clinging onto the railings, the only deterrence keeping him from joining his parents in that timeless place where no one ever returned on a pilgrimage.

Exhausted, he gave up and lay on the dry and dusty ground. Incited by a gust, a crumpled cola can chased a piece of tissue paper halfway across the roof before pinning the soft pulp body with its tin one.

Heavenwards, it was studded with stars, hundreds of luminous plasma kept in order by gravity. _Stars are memories_, his mother had told him when he was still a child. _They had been around for centuries, Ceil, they are old and wise and know every single thing about me and you. Happy, angry, sad or frustrated. _

_Is that so?_ Ceil challenged the stars. He had grown up, never again part of the world where bunnies talk and beds could fly. He no longer believed in those tales, fairy tales to coax a child to sleep. _Show me then, show me what you know. Cause I don't understand a fucking bit!_ Eyes and heart ravaged by tears, Ceil sobbed at the stars, begging them to relent their knowledge.

***

**Classroom Z**

**1 hour earlier**

_Bastard. Bastard. Fucking bastard_! Ceil glared at his teacher, mind overwhelmed with pictures of spears and various sharp objects sticking into certain parts of his teacher's body. Sebastian Michaelis, meanwhile, continued teaching with a constructed air of impassiveness. His heart was, in fact, thumping loudly in his chest cavity and Sebastian was worried that it would burst out and break a few ribs as part of the deal. He told himself, quite strictly; _Now, Sebastian, what happened that day was not your fault, at least not entirely and definitely not the majority of it. The wine had a part in it, as much as the moon, red with lust and the hazy night sky. Besides, he threw himself onto me, did he not?_

Sebastian sneaked a glance at Ceil, only to find that he was scorching a hole in his chest with a smouldering stare. Sebastian turned away, embarrassed, and perhaps, a little ashamed...

_Of what_? He asked himself indignantly. Shaking his head, he continued to recite the Shakespeare he was teaching. "As due to love as thoughts, and dreams, and sighs, Wishes, and tears – poor Fancy's followers."

_How dare he turn his head away_! Ceil began to see red. Everything was cloaked in a miasma of scarlet; the whiteboard, Elizabeth's ponytails in front of him, his desk and yes, his Literature teacher.

All of a sudden, Ceil was hit with a despairing thought – was it...me? He seriously did not have a clue. All he could remember was, he was just as drunk that night.

_Look at him_, Sebastian thought. _Finally realising that it's as much of his responsibility as mine_. Drinking with him was the stupidest mistake of my life. He had a feeling that it would have serious repercussions for the future, a stone dropped in water, producing encircling ripples.

Ceil, meanwhile, continued to be submerged in negativity. _Why, why do I love him so much?_ With a shock, he realised that all along, it was always him chasing sensei, buggering him, never the other way round. _Besides, hadn't sensei already rejected him_?

_So it was really all my mistake._

"Ceil?" Elizabeth's voice, startled and clear, filled the entire classroom.

Sebastian turned around and fixed Ceil with narrowed eyes. "What are you –"

"Sir. I need to go out. Fresh air."

With that, the boy known as Ceil Phantomhive scrambled for the door and was gone before Sebastian had a chance to protest.

Sir or sensei. Ceil had never called him Mr Michaelis like all the other students do.

"Let's carry on."

Sebastian turned his back on the door and began to recite.

***

Yes, it all came back now. All the truths, heartaches, fantasies and lies. The stars twinkled devilishly in the night mask of sky. You poor, smitten sop, they seemed to mock.

"I'm a fool, aren't I?" Ceil whispered to them and the words began to fade into nothingness even as it came out.

***

Sebastian grabbed his briefcase and headed for home. It was 7 pm now. Time to go home, run the bath, soak in it, finishing off with an enjoyable dinner. Just like any other day.

Except that this day was different, his mind kept telling him. _Different_.

_Why_? He grumbled._ It's not like I can find him when the person he is running away from is me_. At least, that was the opinion of his mind. His heart, an altogether more rebellious personality, thought otherwise.

His rational brain listed all the reasons why – One, he doesn't want to see you. Two, kids, especially brats, are hot-tempered, rash and highly volatile. Three, don't tempt trouble. Four, I'm better off resting at home.

His heart, of a much more primitive nature, stated simply – you love him.

Startled, Sebastian was jostled out of his thoughts. NO, NO, NO. His head felt as if it had been swapped, unconsciously, with one 3 sizes too small. Sighing, he was aware of his surroundings for the first time. He was travelling in a train, heading home as always, except that it was travelling in the opposite direction. _What...?_ Confused, he decided to get off at the next station and catch the ride back.

The doors opened with a fluting sound and he stepped onto the platform. As he waited for the next train, he noticed a commotion nearby. A middle-aged guy wearing torn jeans and a fishnet singlet was squabbling with a pretty highschooler in a miniskirt. Suddenly, he grabbed her wrist and whipped a blade out of his back pocket. The girl screamed.

Before he was aware of his actions, Sebastian had already stepped forward and swung his briefcase at the guy. Tissue and leather connected with a satisfying _thwack_ and the guy's grip released, hands flying to the bruise on his head.

"Fucker!" the guy screamed, sprays of spittle landing on Sebastian's black suit, running off and getting swallowed by the moving human throng, hand to head.

"Sir, are you alright?" the girl asked him, frightened doe eyes turning to one of concern. _Sir_? (_I hate you. I love you._) Her voice, soft and warm like a jumper. _Sir_? (_Please, hold me_) She was thin and elfin, just like Ceil....

And then he was running, feet pattering on the concrete, just as the train whistled its arrival. _Where is he_? he thought, as his eyes scoured the crowd frantically, roving from face to face. _Where is Ceil? Is he hurt, bleeding from a knife wound?_ He imagined the blood, scarlet and fresh red, gushing from the imagined wound. _Or is he scavenging the streets, foraging for leftovers? I must find him_!

_Or perhaps_, a thought clearer than the rest whispered in his head, _Ceil is just at home, doing his homework and laughing at the thought of his teacher being a bundle of nerves_.

Sebastian stopped running. He was very near to the exit now, he could feel the cool night air on his skin and he inhaled deeply, to clear his mind with the icy frostiness. The train was still there, doors open, welcoming light spilling out of its warm belly. He stood still as the crowd swarmed over the station, thronging about him.

He exhaled.

Summoning his power, he ran towards the bright, glaring lights of the city.

***

**The Intercontinental **

**4 days ago**

"Woah..." Blindingly bright light assaulted Ceil as he opened his eyes.

The second thing he noticed was that he, Ceil Phantomhive, was staring at another Ceil Phantomhive on the ceiling. And _tha_t Ceil Phantomhive had bloodshot eyes, scruffy hair, and was partially naked, down to his midriff.

The third thing to strike Ceil was that he was in fact, looking at a mirror. Which his house most obviously _did not_ install on the ceiling. Which led him to note mentally that it was a weird, if not creepy, thing to do, and was implicitly sexual in its usage.

Subsequently, it came to him that if his reflection was partially naked, then logically, so must he. _What was he doing naked in bed at some foreign establishment_?

A groan came from the left side of him and startled, Ceil whipped back the covers. And with a scream, the fourth and fifth thing that he simultaneously realised was that he was naked, and in bed with his Literature teacher.

Who was also, conveniently, naked.

***

Ceil twirled the now empty bottle in his hand, and admired the brownness and simplicity of its design. Straightforward, no frills. He wondered if love would ever be like that. Without all those messy sub-sub-sub feelings and implications. A love as transparent and cutting as glass. So clear it _hurt_.

_No_, he decided. Love needed other things to make it less suicidal. Delusions were one of them. He giggled. Just like alcohol. _La-dee-dee-la-wo_o.

Bored, he placed the bottle with the other 5, all emptied and desolate on the dry ground. Then he picked another one up, removed the cap with his teeth, and drank. _Aaah_. He felt the ember liquid consuming him, the elixir of the gods engulfing all else and elevating him to the clouds...

Clouds. Desperately, he wondered if he could spot them now. The sky was a gleaming black. He stood up and went over to the railings. The alcohol was making him floaty and weightless, but somehow, gravity still pinioned him to the ground, held him in its vice-like grip.

He felt that that was not enough. Not powerful, not obliterating enough.

Peering down into the urban jungle of lights, he suddenly wondered if Tiger Beer gave him the power to fly.

***

A whole world away, Sebastian was desperate for something else. Directions. He had ran out of the station with no second thoughts, trusting in his instincts and he had ended up here. A park.

The silhouettes of trees loomed above him, a darkness darker than night itself. Arcing branches laden with leaves threatened a visit to the hospital's Emergency Department should it ever decides to take things in its own hands.

Sebastian was lost, and mad with himself. He was the adult in this (relationship?), he _ought _to know better, take things in his own stride, calmly and methodically, leaving things such as locating errant boys to the police. Yet look at him now. Rash and emotional. Just like a teenager.

Sebastian hadn't known where to start, but things just got worse, because he didn't know where he was and how he should proceed. No signboards were around to patiently point him on his way, not even to tell him to keep off the grass, which he was standing on right now, in the middle of a copse of trees. He was stranded in the middle of the park at night, with no food or water source. Unless you count that coke dispenser machine there.

_Coke dispenser_?

Hurriedly, Sebastian scrambled towards the neon lighted machine of black and red, branches scratching his face and ripping his clothes, but he didn't care and he fought his way out onto a red brick pavement and breathed a sigh of relief. _Now what_? he thought.

It was then that he realised how little he knew about his student. Where he lived, with whom he lived with, where he came from. Where he was likely to go.

No fair, Ceil. You never gave me a chance.

He planted his hands on his hips and as he raised his head to look at the full, pregnant moon, he was consumed by an inexplicable desire to howl.

***

**School – rooftop **

**3 months ago **

_Shit_, Sebastian thought, _I've been ambushed_.

The setting and even the atmosphere were all highly indicative of a confession scenario.

A quiet place in a remote corner of school. _Check_.

The Target. _Check_.

Nervous energy. _Check_.

Apprehensiveness. _Check_.

Dread (on Sebastian's part). _Check_.

Perpetuator. _Check_.

The only thing that didn't add up was that the culprit was a _male_. A. Freaking. Male.

_Oh, and let's not forget the fact that he's a student_, Sebastian thought gloomily.

Sebastian had known, sensed it the way a pig does 3 seconds before being sent to the abattoir, that something like this was about to happen soon. And so, he had taken precautions.

Arriving late and leaving early every day. Ducking into toilets during breaks. Hiding in the school's conservatory. But to no effect. He had underestimated his 15-year-old opponent.

Ceil Phantomhive. Top student of the top class at this elite school. He _should_ have known better.

He found himself thinking, _Why me? I'm just an ordinary Literature teacher at this faculty. I teach, I do my job right, I collect my pay at the end of a month, that's it. I'm sure that there are better-looking teachers out there, and I'm a MALE to boot_!

Ceil had cornered him after class. Sebastian's sharp eyes had came in handy and so had his long dandy legs, sprinting in the opposite direction.

But Ceil, that sneaky bastard, had used shortcuts, and eventually, cutting off all routes of escape, finally forcing him to take refuge.

On the rooftop of the school with 13 metres and certain death behind him and that brat in front, he was completely and utterly at the mercy of him.

And so warily, he said "Just say what you have come to say." He had experience, damnit, just not with a guy. Mentally, he began to list down all the possibilities of rejections. _We have an age difference of 15 years, I don't feel the same way, we are both males_...

"Oh?" Ceil arched his brows, arms folded.

"Oh. So get on with it and spare me!"

"You sure don't know what atmosphere is." An arched brow now.

"Kid. Look. We are really not suitable –"

"You haven't even tried yet! So how could you reach that conclusion!"

"I'm an _adult_. I _know_. I'm sorry if I misled you or something –"

"Indeed! _You_ let me on!"

"Sorry, but what? _I_ led you on? Are you nuts? As an educator, I am fully aware of my boundaries, and that includes no flings with students."

"Liar! You were so nice to me. Directing questions at me, asking me if I needed help in this topic or that..." Ceil's face was flushed now, with passion and embarrassment and anger. "Just admit it already, you like me!"

'I do?' but pushed that nagging question out of his mind as he dealt with the more pressing issues at hand. "That aside, both of us are guys. Same sex!"

"I don't see why not." Ceil remained stubborn.

"Well, I see why not! Ever read Brokeback Mountain? I don't want to get my nuts pulled out with a tire iron!"

Silence.

Then, "I love you, I love you, I love you!" because he couldn't think of anything else to say that meant as much.

"Don't...don't say that! NO! Go away, leave me alone! I...Stop giving me trouble!" Sebastian shouted, eyes red with fury, heart red with turmoil, a burning sphere aching in his chest. All those previous sleepless nights, pondering (I do?).

Ceil froze and felt as though all the blood in his veins had just been replaced by ice. _Trouble. You're nothing but trouble. Even to the one you love_.

"I love you, sensei."

The words barely came out as a whisper.

Ceil ran down the flights and flights of stairs, feeling as though it might never end, leaving his sensei behind with each sure-footed step.

***

"Huuu...." his breath was a silk of white against the midnight sky. From the park, he had wandered aimlessly about, and somehow, he was drawn here, to the base of this old building.

Its walls were more grey than white, and it was more dirt than concrete. It was greasy with graffiti and cooking oil, the entire building smelling of rancid urine and melting animal fat. An abandoned tricycle stood propped against the wall, its front wheels slashed and lightweight frame broken, a skeletal relic of someone's childhood.

Sebastian stepped forwards, hands clutching his briefcase, and his foot connected with an empty drink can, sending it skittering 3 feet across the void deck. He was tired and could practically feel the lactic acid accumulating in his muscles, causing them to weaken and burn every single time he moved. Also, his eyelids stung with lethargy.

Still, the same thing that brought him here was telling him to go up again.

And not just up, but all the way to the top floor. The rooftop.

Wearily, Sebastian placed one foot on the stairs. The building was so ancient it didn't have lifts. _Clomp clomp clomp_ went his shoes.

Several moments later, a man wearing jeans that were shred on purpose crept across the courtyard, eyes never leaving that ascending black figure. Something held in his hand caught the light from a lamppost to his right and sent a shimmer of light across the darkness.

He was wearing a fishnet singlet, and on his forehead, was the bitch of a bruise, angry and swollen and red.

***

Ceil popped two peppermints in his mouth, feeling the sharp taste of the lemon peppermint imprint itself on his tongue, before fizzing into a pool of molten lemon, burning his senses and providing a respite of clarity from all that alcohol.

Lemon-flavoured peppermint. Or was it pepper flavoured sherbet? Both descriptions disagreed with him. He ate more of those sweets, each clarity coming at the price of nerves-frazzling acidity.

His blurry vision was gradually replaced by one that did not include the same intensity of shaking. Soon, he was able to count the number of empty bottles in front of him. 1, 2, 3, 4...7. 7 bottles. He hiccupped and giggled. 7. Why did he drink that much?

Without the cloak of alcohol, the memories returned, and fast, stinging and slapping, a lobster claw to his human skin. All of a sudden, it was too much to bear and he felt the sick surging up from the pits of his stomach and he didn't care anymore and he vomited, tears streaming down his face.

He would go, he decided. Tokyo was not his home anymore.

***

Sebastian reached the rooftop, sides aching and threatening to split, leaving him drenched in blood and various amounts of intestinal juice.

The sharp sting of the cold air up here revived some of his burnt-out senses enough to feel the full capacity of the numbing pain as the cold blade plunged into his side.

Sebastian gasped and collapsed to his knees.

"Aah...aah..." his breath danced in front of his eyes, looking every bit like a vagrant cloud stolen from the skies. He heard rapid footsteps descending, and his vision began to turn foggy.

The last thing he remembered was the line of empty beer bottles, lined up like a cabaret, neck to neck.

They numbered 7 in total.

**Typing's a bitch. **

**Review? :3**


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